The Sound of the Dead
by Whovian178
Summary: Moki just moved to London for work and found the perfect flat to rent on 221 Baker Street. She makes friends with her neighbors but is dragged into a mystery that has left all of London stumped, terrified, and somehow believing in ghosts. Sherlock finally decides to help due to boredom and the fact that everyone is being absurd, but he finds this case a bit harder than he thought.


_I actually started writing this maybe about a year or two ago but I dropped the story after awhile. The only reason you need to know this is because this was started **before** season 3 was released, and I'm going to continue writing the story as if it occurred before all of the events in that season. Luckily, this is written in the past tense anyway, so it shouldn't be too hard to follow or anything. I hope you enjoy what I have so far!_

* * *

"MAN MYSTERIOUSLY BEATEN AND LEFT FOR DEAD; MURDERER UNKNOWN". That's what the headline had read. It was the second time that week that something like this had appeared in the newspaper. I was living in London at the time; or, rather, I was looking for somewhere to live. After arriving on a Sunday, I had to stick to staying in a hotel until I could find a little flat to rent somewhere. I had just gotten my college degree as an architect; the good thing about being an architect is that my clients would come to me rather than me having to go to work every day. I was excited to start work, but at the time I sat on a park bench reading the paper while waiting to check out a flat that I had seen advertised in the last paper I read. That paper just so happened to be the one with an article featuring the first murder. This second article said that it was suspected that these two murders were somehow connected. I personally thought that they might be the same person. After skimming the article, I glanced at my watch. It was time to catch a cab and head towards my destination.

I stood up and walked towards the street. I noticed how much easier it was to catch a cab in London than most places in America. It seemed to be a preferred method of travel there. In fact, the cabs were so quick that I wasn't standing there for a minute before one pulled up to service me. The driver was a middle-aged man with a really scruffy beard.

"Where're ya headed?" he asked in a gruff voice.

I reached into my pocket for the slip of paper that had the address on it. "221 Baker Street," I read. It was a simple address; easy to remember. I read it to myself one more time; " _221 Baker Street."_ Something told me that this place would be the one.

* * *

"So, this is one of the four flats in the building," said the landlady, gesturing towards an apartment. "This is flat C, so your address would be 221C Baker Street."

"What about flats A, B, and D?" I asked, feeling the letter 'C' on the door in front of me. "I mean, I suppose that I had already assumed that you live in flat 'A', but I was wondering if I would have any neighbors."

"Well, I live in flat A, and the people in B are just lovely! You'll probably get along with them. I sure learned to!" she said with a smile. I didn't know what to think about that last statement. The landlady's name was Mrs. Hudson. She was a bit of an older lady who seemed like the motherly type. "So, I suppose I'd better show you the inside of the flat then!" Mrs. Hudson pushed open the door to the apartment.

It first opened up to a small, narrow waiting room where there were two doors. Mrs. Hudson informed me that the one on the far wall led into the bathroom, and the other door to our right led into the rest of the flat. Beyond the door to the right was the main room of the flat. A kitchen area, a dining table, a desk, some cupboards, and other storage spaces were all present. There was also marvelous fireplace in the middle of the far wall with a rug in front of it. The room needed to be furnished, but I had already taken that into account when looking at the costs of the flats. I was an architect, after all. Also on the far wall, there were two doors; one to the left of the fireplace and one to the right. After I got a good look around, Mrs. Hudson showed me into the room to the right: the master bedroom.

The room made an immediate good first-impression on me. There was nothing particularly special about it; it was of moderate size and there was a bed that was off-center in the room. What I really liked were the windows on the right wall. They were quite big and the sunlight filtered through perfectly, giving the bedroom perfect lighting. Good lighting was one thing that I wanted, though not necessarily needed, while looking for a flat. To me, the lighting of each room gives a different feel to it. This master bedroom was beautifully bright. The windows also offered a beautiful view of the street below. Windows aside, other than the bed and a short wardrobe on the far wall, the bedroom was empty.

"Now, the other room next to this one is relatively the same, although the window is located on the opposite wall, and the bed is as well," Mrs. Hudson said to me, still standing in the doorway. After several more seconds of looking around, I finally went back to talk to Mrs. Hudson.

"It's perfect," I said, making sure to clearly express my satisfaction. I saw that Mrs. Hudson didn't miss my preppy note and smiled. "In fact, I would love to move in as soon as possible; whenever you say that I can!"

"Why, you can move in immediately if you so wish!" We walked back outside of the flat and into the hall. "We can discuss rent later. But, before you move in, perhaps you would like to meet the neighbors."

"Yes, that would be nice," I replied with an extra nod. It was true that bad neighbors could ruin the selling of a home or apartment, so I thought it would be wise to meet the people who lived next to me before I moved in so hastily.

Mrs. Hudson lead me across the hall to a door across from the one that would soon be my flat. On the door, there was the golden letter 'B', just like the letter 'C' on my apartment.

"Would you be a dear and let me see if they're home?" Mrs. Hudson asked me. I nodded, and she walked inside the flat. As I waited patiently, I heard the soft sound of Mrs. Hudson talking to someone who sounded like a man. I listened for other voices, but I only heard the one man and the landlady. A moment of silence suddenly fell before Mrs. Hudson emerged from the door and bade me inside.

221B had a very similar structure to the flat across the hall, but it was furnished and had been, well, lived in. There was an armchair sitting to the close left of the fireplace, but it wasn't quite facing the fire. Inside the armchair, there sat one of the men I had heard earlier. He was reading the paper, but as soon as I walked in, he noticed me and stood up. As he walked towards me, the first thing I noticed were his deep green eyes. They seemed like the kind of eyes that you that someone trustworthy would have. "Hello," the man greeted me with a smile that looked more forced than it actually was. "You must be looking to move in across the hall."

"Yes, I'm hoping to move in soon. My name is Moki," I said with a small grin. I held out my hand for him and he wasted little time before reaching out and shaking it.

"I'm John; John Watson. It's quite nice to meet you," he replied. We stopped shaking hands, and John was about to say something else to me, when suddenly a different man burst out of the left door holding a gun. I let out a yelp of surprise and John nearly jumped through the ceiling. Mrs. Hudson had apparently left without anyone noticing.

The man quickly lowered his gun when he saw John there. He did that twirly thing that gunfighters do before setting it down on the ledge of the fireplace.

"Sherlock!" John yelled at the man. "You're going to scare the guest away again!"

" _...Again? Freaking again?!"_ I thought to myself, recalling Olanrogers.

"Well, I heard someone in here that sounded different. I thought it could be a burglar," Sherlock replied lazily.

"Oh, come on, Sherlock! What are the chances of that even happening?

"Well, the way I see it, there was a forty-"

"Don't answer that!" John yelled again. "It was rhetorical!" Then, he turned to face me. "I'm awfully sorry, he's not usually this bad."

"Oh, it's alright. I'm totally use to odd men popping out at me with guns." I had said this to try to loosen the mood, and it worked for John. He chuckled a bit, but the man apparently named Sherlock seemed quite unamused. He just walked over to the dining table and grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl there.

"So, you're going to move in next door," Sherlock said before he took a bite out of the apple.

"Yes, well, I was hoping to," I replied, trying to sound cheery. This man was a bit strange in the way he carried himself, and he had also just threatened me with a gun a minute ago. First impressions do count for something, you know.

"Hm. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective," Sherlock attempted at a decent introduction.

"Oh, well, I'm Moki. An architect," I replied.

"So, you're an architect?" John implored, actually seeming quite genuinely interested.

"Of _course_ she's an architect," Sherlock interrupted. "Just look at-"

"Sherlock, not now, please," John stopped him before he could make some smart-ass remark about how the way I had my Converse shoes tied made up it quite obvious that I was an architect… Or something like that. Although, I didn't know that Sherlock was able to predict such things yet.

"Well, I'm sorry that you can't deduce the obvious, John," Sherlock retaliated. "You can _see_ , but-"

"You don't _observe_ ," John finished his sentence for him. That definitely threw Sherlock off, and he gave John a weird look. I decided it was time to break the awkwardness.

"So, are you two, like... you know, more than friends, or-"

"NO! Ha, God no. We're just flatmates. Nothing more," John said a bit too quickly.

"Oh, right, sorry." I should have realized sooner that that was the worst possible way to stop the awkwardness.

"So, would you like to stay for a bit of tea?" John asked, quickly changing topics.

"I would, but I' going to move in immediately. Hopefully after I've moved my bags inside the flat, I'll come in and join you."

"Alright, you're welcome here any time-"

"No earlier than seven in the morning; John never gets up before seven," Sherlock shouted before walking back into the left door, which I assumed was his room. John just heaved a big sigh and turned to watch the door slam behind him.

"He's a handful, I bet," I said to John.

"Oh, you can say that again," he said without turning around. Poor John sounded quite exasperated.

"Well, he said he was a detective, so do you help him? Like, with solving mysteries, fighting crime..."

"Yeah, we do all that, but for the wrong reasons. Sherlock solves crime for fun." John finally turned around to face me. "You would hate to see him when he's bored. Once, he took that gun and was shooting the wall with it, right over there." John pointed over at the right wall. On it was a yellow, spray-painted smiley face with bullet holes in it.

"Ah, I was wondering what that was," I said smiling. "You said that you both solved mysteries for the wrong reasons, so why do you help him then?"

John hesitated for a second, not answering straight away. "Well, there doesn't really have to be a good reason, I suppose. It _is_ a good pastime."

Although, the way he glanced at his feet as he said this made me wonder if there was more that he wasn't telling me. I shouldn't have expected him to tell me everything anyhow; we had just met for the first time that day.

There was another, yet much shorter, awkward silence, until I said, "Well, I had better be off, then."

"Oh, did you need help with your bags?"

"No thanks, I haven't got very much. Thanks for offering, though."

John nodded to me, and then shook my hand and said goodbye. When he smiled, it seemed slightly less forced than the one before.

* * *

It was about one in the afternoon by the time I had finished getting my bags into the apartment and unpacking them. Nothing was organized yet, but it was something. I hadn't had that much stuff in the first place.

The first thing I wanted to do when I finished unpacking was play my clarinet. I didn't know why, but the urge was there, so I got out the case and started setting it up. Besides my major in architecture, I also minored in music, mostly for playing my clarinet. As an architect, I also planned on making a little extra money by getting gigs for being a musician.

I was just about to start playing when I heard a knock at the door. When I went to open it, I found John in the doorway.

"Oh, hi John," I said with a pleasant smile. I was still holding my clarinet and I could tell that he noticed it.

"Hi, Moki. Um, I was wondering... would you like to come over to our flat for dinner tonight? You know, as a little housewarming welcome. If you're not already busy, that is..." he said, glancing very briefly at the clarinet.

"Oh, I'd love to come! I had just finished... cleaning my clarinet. I haven't had anything to eat yet either, so supper would be lovely." I walked back into my new apartment to set down the clarinet.

"Great! You can come over whenever you'd like."

"Is now alright, then? I _am_ quite hungry." With all of the unpacking, the only thing that I had eaten since breakfast was a banana sometime around noon.

"Sure, that's fine. We can walk over right now."

I walked out the door past where John stood. As soon as I walked by him, I noticed that he fell right into step with me.

"So, John... this may seem like a random question, but have you ever been in the army?" I asked innocently. As soon as I did, however, he froze immediately.

"How the blazes did you know that?" he asked me. His eyes were pretty wide from surprise.

"Well, I..." I felt a little bad because John seemed quite rattled by my observation. "I just noticed that when I walked by, you fell into step with me. You know, soldier's habit." It wasn't until then that I realized that John may have PTSD and I immediately regretted saying anything.

He stopped for another second and contemplated this. "Oh. Well, yeah, I was in Afghanistan as a doctor, but I was shot in the shoulder." By now, John had started walking again. To my relief, he didn't seem shaken up anymore. "Um, sorry for kind of freaking out on you there. I just..." John hesitated for a second, still trying to figure out how to express what he was trying to say. "Sherlock just does that all the time, and I should be use to it, but it felt a bit shocking for someone else to... well, miraculously come to the correct conclusion by just observing things. He is amazing at it. That's what makes a great detective. The ability to observe." He looked up at me and smiled.

When John said _observe_ , I couldn't help thinking about what Sherlock had said to him earlier that morning: " _You can see, but you don't observe_." I concluded that Sherlock said this to John pretty often. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to finish the sentence for Sherlock.

I was about to say something in reply, when the door to the apartment opened part-way. Sherlock poked his head out and smiled when he saw me. This was the first time I had seen him smile at all even though it completely fake. "Moki!" Sherlock said trying to sound a little surprised but failing at doing so. "What a... pleasant surprise."

"I told you that she would be coming over for dinner," John said. He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. Something was definitely going on, but I just couldn't put my finger on it... John did.

"Why, yes, of course, but," Sherlock stammered, turning towards him, "you said she was coming over later." I felt like a bit of an idiot just standing there smiling nervously, but I didn't want to say anything that may seem rude.

"Sherlock..." John tapped his foot somewhat impatiently. "Who's in there?"

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows, probably trying to figure out a way to get out of this, but instead he finally just sighed and said, "My brother..."

"Oh, you have a brother?" I finally spoke. "You never said anything about him."

"Yes, well that's because I try not to," said Sherlock, implying that I probably didn't want to meet him. That didn't satiate my curiosity.

"Well, would it be okay if you introduced me to him?" I asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Yes, that would be fine. And then Mycroft could go home and bother you another day, hm?" John piped up.

Sherlock looked from John to me a couple times, let out another exasperated sigh, and finally opened the door all the way for John and me.

John led me into the apartment while Sherlock followed. Inside, everything looked the way it was when I had been there this morning, except that there was some nice, hot, steaming dinner on the table and an unknown man standing in the middle of the rug in front of the fireplace. I had no doubt that this man was Sherlock's brother even though they didn't share a resemblance. The man looked at me and grew confused at first, but he quickly covered this up with a grand smile.

"Why, John! It looks like you've quite outdone yourself this time. Who's your young lady here?" Sherlock's brother walked towards us. I grew a bit embarrassed by the way he had automatically assumed that I was John's new girlfriend, and I could tell that he felt the same way by how he was blushing profusely.

"Um, no Mycroft. She's just my friend," John muttered while looking up to Sherlock's brother who loomed over him.

"Oh, so she's just a friend who's a girl, then? Well, that's quite nice too, I suppose. What's your name?" Mycroft asked, finally talking to me directly.

"I'm Moki. I've moved into the apartment across the hall from here. I heard that you were Sherlock's brother."

"Oh, why yes, I'm his older brother. The name's Mycroft," he introduced himself. He didn't offer to shake hands, so I didn't bother trying in case it would make him uncomfortable. It was then I noticed that he was carrying an umbrella even though there hadn't been any rain in the forecast for quite awhile. "So, you've heard about me from my _lovely_ brother Sherlock, eh? It makes me glad to know that he's mentioned me! All good things, I hope."

Sherlock just snorted and walked away to lay down on his couch in front of the fireplace with his back against the room. John let out a very soft sigh. I quickly came to the conclusion that Sherlock and Mycroft didn't get along very well.

"Well, we were going to have Moki over for supper tonight, as a housewarming welcome. So, if you would, erm, finish your business with Sherlock and, well... leave..." John tried to say as politely as possible.

"My dear John, I apologize for barging in on you here, but Sherlock is being extremely..." Mycroft turned to look scornfully at the figure lying on the couch in front of the fire, "... difficult."

"Well that's because I have no intention in helping you with what you need," Sherlock droned without moving an inch. He had clearly been listening in on the conversation even after he had gone to the couch.

"Mycroft..." John said, his voice filled with anxiety from the two brothers' inability to get along, "what is it that you want?"

He turned again to face at John and I. Mycroft suddenly carried an extremely serious expression. "I've come here on terms of business with you and Sherlock." He bowed his head further before saying deeply, "I have a case for you."

"Case declined!" Sherlock shouted from his seat. He was now sitting up with anger written on his face. "Get out, Mycroft!"

"Why are you two so rude to each other?" I asked suddenly. I was starting to grow a bit annoyed with this whole situation. My hunger must have been source of my sudden frustration. "Why can't you take his case, Sherlock?"

"Because you don't know what happened last time I took a case from him." Sherlock replied snarkily, yet much more quietly. He plopped back down into the laying position on the couch. John blanched ever so slightly at the thought of the last case his friend's brother had brought him and Mycroft's eminent frown grew even deeper. The mention of this unknown event only broadened my own confusion.

"Fine then. Once again, I greatly apologize for intruding." Mycroft walked past John and me, heading towards the exit. Before he reached it, however, he hesitated. "Sherlock," Mycroft called out, turning around once more. After waiting a good five seconds for a reply and not getting one, he said at last, "I'll let you sleep on my offer. You'll be getting a call from me tomorrow, and if you don't pick up, remember that I have John's number... And other ways to contact you." Mycroft abruptly made his way out the door after saying those last words. In the silence, I pondered everything that I had learned, heard, and said. God knew that Sherlock wouldn't be the only one sleeping on those words that night.


End file.
